


A Little Bit About Crowley

by Dogsled



Series: Season 13 Codas [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Dean Winchester Has Issues, Demon Dean Winchester, Destiel if you squint - Freeform, M/M, Summer of Love - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERSDean didn't get to say a proper goodbye to a friend of his. I fixed it.





	A Little Bit About Crowley

His thoughts are on Crowley today, have been since a goddamn _demon_ called him up speed dial, unknown number, and proceeded to woo him with promises of having exactly what he needs. It’s not the only way his mind goes, of course. He remembers another crossroads demon, another deal, remembers claws and teeth tearing through his flesh, but that pain had been relatively fleeting in comparison to what comes after. The last ten years of his life seem like a dream since then, sometimes good but often nightmarish, a very different kind of suffering because it had always seemed to come hand in hand with people to suffer for; good things that could be stripped away from him at a moment’s notice.

 

But Dean is at peace with himself in this beautiful new way, like a weight lifted, and for all the responsibility that Billie has placed on his shoulders, she gave him the news he needed to hear most: that he would die when it was his time, and most likely he’d die hunting, saving other people because that was what _he wanted_ to do; what _he chose_.

 

He’s thinking of Crowley when they walk down the street, thinking of what that relationship had been, the flavour of his life given physical form, all ups and downs, mostly darkness. That wasn’t what he chose to be any more, and it wasn’t because, ultimately, Crowley was _evil_ ; he hadn’t been that to Dean for the longest time, even if Dean had never been able to find the words to tell him.

 

It was that Dean was just over _demons_ in general.

 

Fuck demons. His whole entire goddamn _life_ had been about demons. Right now the only thing he wanted was about as far from demonic as it was possible to get, off on some mission he’d been forbidden from joining. He was so wound up, frustrated with being cornered out of the game that he just wasn’t interested in listening to Cas’ excuses right now, and had placed that burden on his brother’s shoulders instead.

 

He’s thinking of Crowley when this asshole – this god damn _fake_ – tells him he knows all about him, shoving cherry pie across the table like it’s a come hither. And when he explains that he’s _the_ crossroads demon now Dean just about considers taking out his angel blade right there in public, ten minutes from the bunker, and in broad daylight jumping over the table and stabbing this guy to death.

 

That’s why they met here, after all, on this crowded street. Because Crowley’s the goddamn exception to the rule and this asshole knows it.

 

Okay, so maybe it’s a little bit about Crowley.

 

Sam doesn’t get it, of course. Sam thinks it’s just a general demon loathing thing. Sam whose entire life has been one demon thing after another, wants them to consider the possibility of taking this guy up on his deal. It’s almost laughable. Except Dean’s not laughing, and this guy keeps flirting, cocky son of a bitch, with absolutely none of Crowley’s charm.

 

When he touches his mouth, Dean’s mind drifts just barely, but not so far as to allow him to lose focus on the conversation. He remembers a thumb pressing against the corner of his own lips, his own demonic darkness drawing up to the surface in answer. When Dean remembers the experience he’s being consumed by black lust, pressing his mouth back roughly in answer to Crowley’s kisses as though to challenge him, threatening, mocking: _Is this what you wanted? Is this what you wanted me to become? Drag me down to your level—is it broken enough for you now? Am I ruined enough now?_

 

It was Crowley who’d thrown him out of that darkness too, who’d said that enough was enough and ensured that he was returned to humanity and pain and all the awful things he’d been running from for so long. He kind of hated him for that. Kind of loved him too. And he’d never thanked him.

 

This guy thought he could just slide in, take Crowley’s place, rule in his stead? No way. Dean was done with demons. Dean was done with his own darkness, and like it or not that was what Crowley represented: darkness, but with his own light at the end of the tunnel, coming closer in incremental shades of grey but black as night none the less. Didn’t he deserve that light now? Hadn’t he earned some peace?

 

He’s never going back: not to black eyes, not to nightmares, not to being consumed by a litany of sins. Summer of love? More like summer of lust, summer of not caring any more, summer of freedom that was never truly free, bound in burden by his continued self hatred. There are good memories, like any drunken vacation, but lack of inhibitions didn’t mean lack of regrets, and Dean was done blaming himself for the things he’d done.

 

Dean didn’t hate himself any more. He was free. He stood over burning bones and it was like standing over the pyre he hadn’t been able to make, setting Crowley free. As Sam ran his hands through his hair and fretted about how to clear up the dead immortal lying in the road, Dean warmed his fingers over the flames, and sighed down at them.

 

“Goodbye, Crowley,” he said, softly. “And thanks for everything.”


End file.
